Once
by nlizzette7
Summary: "I don't know," Blair repeats, eyes closing in contentment. "Sometimes the plan changes." / A series of moments surrounding Chuck and Blair's relationship and the NJBC, culminating in the reveal of Blair's pregnancy. / One-shot.


**A/N: **Dedicated to my lovely friend Moo (hopefully she'll appreciate my nickname usage). I took much too long in writing this for her. I can only hope I did it justice.

* * *

**Once.**

_I told you once,_

_I always knew,_

_All of this –_

_It ends with you._

_2003._

When she's thirteen years old, Blair walks a half-second speedier so that she can seem just as tall as – if not _taller _– than Serena. She holds a leather-bound scrapbook in her hands as they walk up the street to her penthouse, but the blonde is too busy giggling at a dumb chain text to notice her best friend seething two steps ahead.

"Wait, I'm listening, B. I swear," Serena breathes when Blair practically slams the door shut in her face.

"I don't know why I thought you'd care," Blair huffs, dropping her little Prada satchel onto the foyer table, sitting daintily on the chaise before spreading the book out in front of her. "A serious talk about our futures?" Blair rolls her eyes, pulls out a silver pen as she pouts. "You can barely get a hold of yourself in the present."

Serena sighs, tosses her phone to the side. "Thanks for the vote of confidence…" She drops her chin into her palm, taps her foot as Blair carefully prints words and artful little doodles onto the book's ivory pages. _Prom…Wedding…Honeymoon… _"Blair, we're _thirteen_. I don't even know what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow. How could you possibly predict that you'll one day have three peony bushes surrounding your townhouse? Things don't always – "

"Work out my way?" Blair cuts in, already sounding bored with her friend's protests. "S, a bowl of Greek yogurt sprinkled with light granola and a quarter ounce of shaved strawberries will be waiting for me on that very dining table when I wake up tomorrow morning." Blair's smile is crisp and sure, she straightens her headband for good measure. "_Everything _goes exactly the way I intend it to, which is why Nate and I will have two boys and a little girl – just slightly fair-haired. We'll get married on – "

"B," Serena warns with an eye roll.

"_What_?" Blair snaps. "Maybe you're satisfied with your pick of the week. But these boys…_fawning _after you – that won't last forever. In our world, we have to design our own fates." Blair narrows her eyes at the crisp pages, nods in self-affirmation. Serena considers being fearful of her best friend's maniacal behavior, until she remembers that this is a regular. She's been rearranging crayons, designing the architecture of block towers since they were toddlers.

But just to tease her, Serena throws herself back against a throw pillow and grins, "Who knows, B? You might end up having those babies with someone like…" The blonde pauses, considers the suggestion will draw the most drastic cringe. "Chuck Bass."

Blair pretends to gag, shifts away from Serena in a huff. "That is so twisted." She shakes her head, snaps the book shut in her impatience. "And so far from amusing, even as a joke. The chances of me getting near enough to Bass for that to happen are about as good as one of us dating someone from the Lower East Side." Blair sobers, raises a hand to her throat. "Or _worse_. Brooklyn."

"You never know," Serena shrugs, twirling a lock of blonde around her ring finger.

"I do know," Blair argues. "I know what I want. I know – " She taps her pen against the book, bites down on her lip. " – what should happen." She frowns, and she is determined, determined to make sense of something that her heart has never once panged for. "I know that someone like Chuck Bass is nowhere near the plan."

"I don't know, Blair," Serena warns, pressing a light hand to Blair's shoulder blade. "Sometimes the plan changes."

_2005._

When he's fourteen years old, Chuck walks a half-second slower than Nate, strolls down Lexington at his own leisure, thoroughly enjoys his own lax behavior. He doesn't have to be worried about drowning in shadows, because he's already cloaked himself under his own. The golden boy leaves flecks of light trailing behind – and Chuck's smarmy resolve captures every one of them.

"And you should have _seen _Svetlana," Chuck drawls. "She was certainly…talented. There's this thing she does right before she's about to - "

"Nope," Nate suddenly cuts in. "As entertaining as your adventures with the Russian exchange students have been, I don't want the details." His friend chuckles as the two boys perch atop one of the massive rocks in Central Park, Chuck gingerly adjusts his scarf before reclining with a fresh cigarette.

"Don't be such a prude, Nathaniel." The words are said in jest, and Chuck fails to mention that lately, he's been quite envious of his best friend. He overcompensates with stories about bleach blondes and the way they bend, but he often wonders where that connection lies – what it means to have just one girl who knows the things he likes, what it means to learn someone's ticks and faint moans as they begin to memorize the lines of his own skin.

Nate already has the other end of that pleasure in his own girlfriend, the one who's just recently begun to show proof of her maturity, breasts pressing tighter under her uniform's button-down, hair sweeping down to her curved hips. An inexplicable warmth spreads through his stomach as Chuck considers the brunette. And he wonders what it would be like to have a girl like that spread open and panting beneath him. He wonders what it would be like to have a girl like –

"Blair."

Chuck's gaze snaps up to attention, and he nearly drops the cigarette between his fingertips. "What did you say?"

"Blair's texting me," Nate repeats under a low sigh. "We have to go." Chuck visibly relaxes at the explanation, throws in an apathetic eye roll for good measure.

"That's something you'll never find me doing," Chuck smirks. "Scampering off whenever a girl hails me? I – " Chuck cuts off when he feels a sharp tug on his pant leg, nearly trips over at the impact. When he glances down, a little boy with wild brown hair, eyes much too big for his button nose, is practically drooling over his Armani, sticky fingers pressed to the fabric around his ankle. Chuck edges away. "What…is this?"

Nate laughs, shakes his head. "Chuck, he's a toddler."

"I'm aware of that, Nathaniel." Chuck cuts him a sharp glance. "Who does it…belong to?" He's exasperated now, shaking out his leg as gently as he can manage. But the little boy is persistent, clinging onto Chuck's leg as if it were a toy on a playground. His eyes light up when he stands on his tiptoes, a ruddy hand swiping for the tassels of Chuck's neck accessory. The older boy stumbles in horror, swipes back. "Hey, not the scarf."

"Sorry," calls out an older woman running up the path, barreling straight in their direction. In a flash, she's scooping the boy up in her arms, nuzzling his cheek, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Chuck watches the sight, and his mouth goes dry, his eyes widen. "Sorry," the woman repeats. "He's a quick one."

"No worries," Nate offers, a gentle smile gracing his features. He looks to Chuck for agreement, but there is only bitterness as the woman hoists the little boy up, casts them a small smile before turning in the opposite direction. When they're alone again, Nate asks, "Hey, you okay?"

"I'll have to get this dry cleaned now," Chuck sniffs, glancing down at his soiled pant leg.

"Oh, come on," Nate chuckles. "He was practically a baby."

"Yes," Chuck replies. "A miniature spawn who just slobbered all over me."

"We were that age once, too, you know," Nate quips.

"And yet, I never once partook in that sort of savagery."

"Keep talking like that," Nate says, eyebrows raised. "I bet you're going to end up with a kid of your own before any of us."

"If you're that prepared to lose your money, Archibald," Chuck retorts, "then a bet it is." He sounds so sure of himself as they pour out onto Fifth Avenue, hailing a cab on the next corner. But as they're about to pull away, he spots the same little boy, still giggling and now restrained in his stroller. Chuck stares outside of the car window as the boy lifts his hand into a spastic wave, a goofy grin directed right at Chuck.

And, despite himself, Chuck edges over to wave back.

_2011._

Nate remembers.

He remembers the tang of Chuck's favorite Scotch, hints of it in the air, on his own skin, embedded into that very moment. He remembers the suite at the Empire in shambles, remembers watching his best friend break for the same girl, for the millionth time. He remembers a darkness that he will never really understand because a love like this is unparalleled by the epics, goes higher still, pulls everyone around it into beautiful madness.

_And when it falters –_

Nate glances at Chuck, splayed out on his chaise, eyes completely devoid of the spark they used to hold.

_- the world itself goes black._

"She's pregnant." The words leave Chuck's lips in a choke through parted lips, and for a second, Nate thinks he must have heard this incorrectly. But Chuck lolls his head to the side, slurs, "She's having a little – " A cough that might be a sob surfaces. " – baby prince."

Nate doesn't say anything, just clasps his friend's upper arm, exchanges the gesture for a reassuring hand at the center of Chuck's back. The hug that follows is too weak to last very long, the three teardrops staining Nate's blazer are there, but they don't talk about it.

"But it's not the end for you, man," Nate says, pouring Old Fitzgerald into a crystal glass. "It's never the end between you guys."

Chuck's smile is grim because Nate has a habit of telling him things he already knows.

"It's always going to be you," Nate continues, sliding the glass across his bar counter, blue eyes holding more remembrance than sympathy. "Even when it's not – it's still you."

Chuck's smile is grim because Nate has a habit of being wise when Chuck doesn't want him to be.

_2011._

Serena remembers.

She remembers Blair's room, how it was only lit by the black and white glow of her television screen for two weeks, the same chilling words of classic tragedies sounding against the walls over and over again. She remembers the brunette buried beneath blankets, buried beneath regret – all skin, bones, and heartbreak. She and Blair lived together on that bed for fifteen days because sometimes, that's what best friends need each other to do.

"I'm a horrible person."

Blair says this on the fifth day – the first words she's spoken since Serena rolled her into their newly shared corridors. Her speech is muffled by the damp down pillow pressed against her lips. Her hair lacks luster, but Blair herself never does.

"If you're horrible, then I'm horrible, too," Serena replies.

"That's comforting."

"It's okay to be sad."

"There was a moment after the accident," Blair says, rolling over in bed, reaching for the edge of Serena's nightgown, her wrist bone protruding, her heart aching to be tethered to the present. "Right after, when I first opened my eyes, when I first realized what had happened." Her swallow takes more effort than it should. "And I thought of Chuck first. I reached for Chuck first – before my own…" She doesn't say the word, but she clutches her empty stomach anyway, looks like a small child when she hides her face. "That's why my baby is gone. That's why I'm being punished."

The tears rise behind Serena's eyes when she bites out, "You don't know that, Blair."

The brunette scratches her own skin and cries, "I just love him so much."

The tears fall in steady succession when Serena whispers, "I've always known that, B."

* * *

_Text message sent to Serena van der Woodsen, from Nate Archibald_

Why are they doing this to themselves?

_Text message sent to Nate Archibald from Serena van der Woodsen_

I don't know. I've never known.

* * *

_2014._

"Hey."

Blair jumps just slightly when her husband sneaks up behind her in the sitting room of their temporary apartment on 83rd. He presses his palms on either side of her waist and kisses her neck – open-mouthed and relentless. The flushed reaction never seems to go away, and her skin tingles when Chuck drops to his knees, presses his lips to the Missoni dress covering her stomach, and whispers a second, "Hi."

"This pregnancy is going to be hell," Blair sighs, only half-joking. But her touch is amorous when she threads her fingers in his hair, bends to kiss his forehead. "It was difficult enough to deal with a Bass _outside _of the womb."

"Funny," Chuck smirks, getting to his feet. But that crooked grin does not reach his eyes, and she is suddenly nervous. This day, this particular _moment _is much too important for the dread she senses within her betrothed.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Chuck doesn't look at her, just plays with the thin band in her pretty brown curls.

"Tell me what's wrong, or I'll divorce you."

At this, Chuck rolls his eyes. "You can't just say that every time you want something." His lips lift again. "I wouldn't _let _you divorce me anyway."

Blair's smile mirrors his. "I'm aware." She inches closer, teases him with the brush of her lips. "I'm counting on that." She traces the line of his chin, cups his jaw with her little hand. "Are you afraid to tell them?"

Chuck doesn't lie to her, just drags his hand down to her lower back and murmurs, "I think that I've always been half-afraid of what we are."

Blair nods, drops her hand to his shoulder. "Who wouldn't be?"

"Honestly?"

Blair presses her lips together. "Honestly."

Chuck's chin digs into her shoulder, and her entire arm hums when he says, "I'm the wrong dream. I'm the twisted ending." Blair parts her lips to argue, but Chuck hushes her, bows her front to his. "I know that you love me. But I also know that I stole every notion of your dream prince away from you. I've loved you so selfishly, and now – "

"Shut up," Blair suddenly interrupts. Chuck's head lifts, and he frowns at her crassness. Her arms are crossed, and her scowl is adorable, but Chuck has the distinct feeling that now is not the time to be amused. He reaches for his wife, but Blair is already storming away, digging through the marble bookshelves across the room. Chuck watches her, but she does not stop, does not hesitate until she surfaces with –

"Your scrapbook?" Chuck is slightly peeved at this gesture. "I don't need a reminder of the golden Archibald wedding that never was."

Blair sighs, shoves him aside, drops the book onto the table in front of him. "And here I thought that I had married such a brilliant man."

Chuck glowers at her insult, opens his mouth to defend himself until – the book snaps open.

And he sees his own name, not Nate's. He sees photographs of himself with Blair, plans that all revolve around him. Chuck sees a history re-written, chapters and chapters of Blair's dreams for them together. Their wedding pictures are pasted in the place of her childhood doodles, her first sonogram covers silly lists made under a delusion of false charm.

"Dreams are fickle," Blair reassures him, delighting in the way Chuck's eyes widen when he bears witness to pages and pages of…them. "They're all terribly wrong until you find the right one."

The breath that he releases is filled with such joyous relief that he simply _must _kiss her, must gather her into his arms, must pour every single heightened feeling into the places where they are connected. She gasps, and he groans, ready to bend her back until he hears a crisp cough, an uncomfortable whisper.

"Did you guys invite us here to experiment with exhibitionism again…?" Serena rolls her eyes, scratches her arm as she looks away. Beside her, her own boyfriend is scratching at his – _thankfully _– shaved head. On her other side, Nate has his face in his hands, groaning again.

"Oh," Blair breathes, placing a steady hand on Chuck's chest. As her husband rolls his eyes, Blair glances at their friends, narrows her eyes when they set on Dan Humphrey. "You don't really need to be here for this."

"What's with the solemnity?" Dan frowns. "It's not like you're – " He cuts off, glances at one of Chuck's large hands covering Blair's stomach, at the dewy glow lighting the brunette's face. He swallows, then smiles with caution. "Oh…wow."

Blair rolls her eyes. "Humphrey. Can you find someplace else to stutter? Maybe in a new blog post?" Beside her, Chuck snickers into her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Dan murmurs, already turning to kiss Serena good-bye. But as he claps Nate on the back, he nods at Chuck, nods at Blair, and offers another truce. "Hey…congratulations." And not even one snarky eye-roll is exchanged between the two brunettes when they thank him in response. Which leaves the wicked duo to face their two best friends, the golden children who taught shadows to touch light, the foursome that withstood the burn of every tragedy to find diamonds among their ashes.

And, as always, Blair and Chuck turn to them with knowing smirks, excited hearts.

And, as always, Nate and Serena share the same lost expression, light features crumpling in their confusion.

"Wait…"

"…what?"

_2014._

The news is taken in a celebratory daze, a group hug that makes Chuck frown and Blair pry away immediately. The scrapbook is abandoned, the scrapbook is no longer necessary. Blair grows tiresome of writing her future – she always has enjoyed the film version instead. And as Serena presses a hand to her best friend's small stomach, as Blair slaps said hand away with an eye-roll, neither girl notices their male counterparts drift to Chuck's office.

"I feel like you're pranking me," Nate laughs, and his hair falls into his eyes when he shakes his head. "I mean…you know that you can't go around calling your kid a spawn now, right?"

Chuck smirks at this, pours them both glasses of Old Fitzgerald – for the right reason this time. "He…or she will be _my _spawn. I expect nothing less." Chuck reaches into his suit pocket as his friend laughs, drops a silver envelope into Nate's hand. "Blair will be demanding my presence any minute now. I just wanted to give you this."

Chuck disappears as Nate rips the cardstock open, frowns when a crisp hundred dollar bill slips out. But the frown fades into a steady, remembering grin when he catches the note behind it.

_This is the only bet I've ever been pleased to lose, Archibald._

_2014._

Hours after, a brunette and a blonde sit at the bottom of a grand staircase, curls spilling over both of their huddled shoulders, fingertips tracing over messy scrapbook pages. Here, an older Blair doodles over a younger one. There are other pictures now – wishes that came true and a tale recreated to star a dark knight instead. Blair's breath catches when she skims the photograph of their wedding, laid over a pressed peony.

Serena's head digs into the crook of Blair's neck, and she whispers, "There aren't any pages left."

Blair lets out a breath in her exhaustion, closes her eyes, allows herself to be this close to her best friend. "That's okay. I won't be needing this anymore."

Serena's responding smile is also sleepy. "But the plan – "

"I don't know, Serena."

Blair's fingers slide across her cloaked stomach, and she hears the low drawl of her husband's words echoing around the apartment, the most wicked, comforting tune she's ever listened to. "I don't know," Blair repeats, eyes closing in contentment. "Sometimes the plan changes."

_Fin._


End file.
